SMOKE
By C.P. Mandara
Smoke © 2018 C.P. Mandara
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This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Smoke
I’ve been sold to Alain Dumortier. I was delivered to his doorstep naked as the day I was born, and two weeks later I haven’t got a stitch of clothing to my name.
This should have been an easy assignment. Get in, have him fall under my spell, grab every little piece of intel I can find, and then assassinate him. They were simple instructions, and ones I’d followed countless times before. What could go wrong?
Just about everything. Alain’s kept me imprisoned and drugged up to my eyeballs. The mind games he’s playing are nearly my undoing, but it’s hard battling a body that’s full of barbiturates or opium. There’s one more problem, too.
I think I’m falling in love with the bastard.
And that was how our story began. Little did I realise, but even though I was half in love with James back then, I would soon forget all about him in less than two weeks time. As unbelievable as it sounds, it was the truth. When the doors of Carte Blanche opened for me, they would strip my world bare, and I’ve never been a girl who was fond of black and white. Though James had tried his best to warn me, it wasn’t until I was on the road of no return that I realised I had made the biggest mistake of my life. All alone, and with no one to turn to, I’d made my bed, but lying in it was almost impossible. Alain Dumortier was out for blood. Mine.
“The greatest fight is when you are fighting in the smoke and cannot see with your eyes.” – Mark Helprin
Prelude
There are no second chances in my line of business. You either do it right the first time around, or you die. Wait – that's not entirely accurate. Generally, you're brutally tortured for information first, and then you might be allowed to bite a bullet if you're lucky.
My name is Lois Reeves, and I'm an assassin, in case you were wondering. The pay is excellent, but the lack of vacation time sucks. If they were my only woes, I'd be a happy girl, but when you add plenty of stress, extortionately high medical insurance, and the inability to form long-term relationships because someone's constantly trying to kill you or your partner, things can go sour quickly.
That’s where I am right now, as it happens. When they killed my boyfriend Kiel, I didn’t think I’d make it through. Although I was warned about forming relationships when I started this gig, I’m not someone who can go through life on their own. It’s something I’m going to need to figure out. I can’t go through anything like that again.
You’re thinking I should probably just leave and get the hell out, right? Wrong. You can’t do that either without someone hunting you down and trying to kill you, and wham, we’re back to square one.
My latest assignment is about to take care of all that, though. It’s an almost guaranteed suicide mission, so at least it should put me out of my misery. The upside is that I’ll be assassinating Kiel’s killer if I manage to do the job right.
Wish me luck. I’m going to need it.
Chapter One
Present Day
“I’m going to kill you.”
Dumortier bit the words off one by one, and I could feel flecks of spittle splatter against my forehead. Glowering down at me, he grabbed hold of my cheeks and squeezed them painfully tightly, his fingernails digging into my soft skin. My split lip protested at the treatment, but this was tame when compared to what he did to some of the other girls. This was the first time I’d been brought down to the wet room, and judging from what I’d previously seen, I had a lot to look forward to.
“But that’s not all. First, I’m going to torture you for information, and then, when I get bored of you, I’ll fill you with so many holes you’ll resemble a cheese grater. If I do it just right, it will take several, excruciatingly long days for you to die. Sound like fun?” He then violently kicked the chair that I was tied to, and it rocked on its legs for a moment, threatening to tip, but somehow managed to right itself. Dumortier was not impressed. His foot then lashed out and sent me sprawling towards the floor, breaking one of the chair legs in the process. He then went completely mad, screaming and swearing in his caustic French accent. The man was quite creative about it, too.
“What do you do for a living, Lois Reeves?”
Finally. Here was the question James had warned me would come. Now that it had, I felt only relief. Two week’s under Alain’s roof had been a lifetime of agony, and I think it had aged me ten years. Not that it mattered. It looked like I didn’t have too long left in this world. My eyes fluttered prettily in their sockets as I twisted them to meet his. The man was a fucking paradox. How could someone who looked like an angel be such a complete and utter bastard? I wondered what had happened to drive him to such lengths. He was a cross between a serial killer and a terrifying psychopath, and that was being kind. Blinking, I watched him carefully and made some kind of non-committal noise behind my gag. There wasn't much else I could do.
“Break her legs.”
That gave me a reason for concern, and even my opiate-laced brain suddenly woke up and took notice. This was going to fucking hurt, and we'd barely started. The bastard could have given me a little warm up punching session before going straight for my femurs, surely?
When the two goons from the rear of the room began moving forward menacingly, I wondered for a moment if I should start praying, but I didn’t. Looking up at Alain from the corner of my eye, I couldn’t help but wonder what the hell he intended to do next. What did you do as an encore to that? Perhaps I’d be hung, drawn and quartered. I’d heard that was quite good fun.
Kiel, I think I might shortly be coming to join you. Tell them to light the fires, and roll out the welcome mat, sweetheart.
Chapter Two
Two weeks ago
“Well, today’s the day.” My fast-forward training programme in all things BDSM had been hell on very fast, Bugatti-style wheels, but I had managed to get my submissive training badge, much to James Leveritt’s disgust.
This past week he had tried every trick in the book to try and get me to abandon this mission, but it didn’t matter what stunt he pulled because I was ready for him. Today, he was getting a little frustrated with me.
“Why are you so determined to see this through? You must know by now that there’s little chance you’ll come out alive. I haven’t been fucking with you. Alain is the worst kind of monster you’re ever likely to meet, and he doesn’t take prisoners. I know you’ve read the file, Lois. I know that you know that there’s a good chance you’ll be going to your grave as soon as you enter Carte Blanche’s doors. Don’t do this. Let Sharkey clean up her own mess. This is not your problem.”
Oh, but it was. "James, stop it. There's nothing you can say that will make me change my mind. Taking another bite of the buttered toast in front of me, I smiled at him to soften the blow. "Thank you for everything you've done for me this week, Sir. I know I can be a bit slow on the uptake, but you've been exceptionally patient with me, and I real
ly appreciate it." Dragging my coffee mug up to my lips, I inhaled the bitter, nutty aroma and took a careful sip. It was still steaming hot, but it felt good to be allowed to sit at the table, mostly because I'd been crawling about on the floor all week.
James sighed and gave me a dark look. "Why are you in such a hurry to kill yourself, Lois? You're far too young to be diving headlong into a seedy sex party with a guaranteed coffin at the end of it. Have you honestly thought all of this through? While I don't confess to know what you're going through right now, or even how you're coping, I do know that eventually it won't be as bad as you think it is right now. Don't sign your own death warrant without giving yourself a chance to recover."
Poor James thought I was suicidal after my partner Kiel’s death, and that I was looking for an easy way out. I guess that was a reasonable conclusion, given the enormity of what I was about to take on, but it wasn’t correct.
"That's not what this is about, James. Besides, I don't intend to die. I will kill Alain Dumortier. One way or another, I'm not leaving CB while he's still alive."
"And what makes you think you'll succeed where all others have failed?" James raised an eyebrow, and his gaze was punishing. Thankfully, I'd had a week to get used to it, and this time I barely even flinched.
“I’ll get the job done, Sir, or die trying.” Call me a masochist, but I couldn’t resist adding the last part.
He threw his hands in the air, just like I thought he would, before saying, “That’s what I’m afraid of, Lois. For crying out loud, you’d exasperate a meditating sloth. Honestly, if I thought it would do any good, I’d try and shake some sense into you.”
“It won’t. Let’s just concentrate on the upcoming auction. What is Alain looking for?” James frowned at me, but I knew he’d answer the question eventually. Tapping his pen on the table repeatedly, until the sound nearly drove me insane, he made me wait for an age before he finally spoke.
"It's easier to tell you what he isn't looking for, so we'll start there. He doesn't want a walk over. Dumortier likes a challenge. He doesn't think much of the timid girls or the ones who are full of plastic enhancements. He won't tolerate any disfigurations, and the bastard will check your teeth, too. Let's say he wants the ‘real deal.' That's a girl with a great body and a decent mind, in case you were wondering. He wants someone he can corrupt. I guess you could say he wants a challenge. While you will have to technically ‘obey' him in the auction room, you don't have to be overly polite to him. Let him know there's a little steel beneath the façade you present, and you'll intrigue him. Most of the girls' simper and fawn over him, because they know he's loaded. You'd be better advised to do neither. When he's trying to measure you up, look like you're doing the same. Assess him from top to bottom, narrow your eyes and look calculating. Don't talk much, either. The less he gets out of you, the better. That way, you'll trigger his curiosity. Leave him wanting more. Oh, and for God's sake don't let your gaze linger on him for a minute. Let him think you're completely unaffected by him, and it will drive him wild." James smiled thinly. "Think you can do that?"
I snorted. “I don’t find very many men attractive, so I can’t see it being a problem.”
James smiled, but the action didn’t reach his eyes. He gave me a wry kind of glance, and it was clear there was plenty he was not telling me. What was I missing here? “Trust me when I tell you it will be a problem. You can barely control yourself around me.” This time the smile was genuine.
"You're a complete and utter bastard, Mr. Leveritt. You know I find you horribly attractive and there's nothing I can do about it. Unfortunately." I sighed melodramatically.
“Well, you’re only human – what can I say?” He winked at me.
Throwing my pen at him, he dodged it effortlessly. I rolled my eyes and picked up another.
“Fine. Ignore Dumortier, look pretty, and don’t talk crap. Does that just about sum it up?” I battered my eyelashes at him for effect.
There was another reluctant smile, although he quickly squashed it. "Lois," he said in his sternest tone, "this is not the time for wisecracks. But yes – that's pretty much it, in a nutshell."
Looking down at my notes, I wondered what I should ask next. I had so many questions it was difficult to know where to start. Perhaps I should order them in the timeline that I would need them. That seemed as good a plan as any.
“What do I need to know about the auction?” Now I had some hints on how to attract Dumortier’s attention, I’d need to know what was expected of me when I was under the spotlight.
“Well, you’ll be naked, but you already know that. If you do get picked to go to CB, you won’t see clothes for a while. The only thing the girls wear are silly little scraps of lace or sexy costumes, worn purely for entertainment value.”
“Duly noted. What else?” Give me something I can use, James.
“Fine. Let’s start from the beginning, shall we?” He dipped his head and rubbed his eyes, and I wondered if he was stalling. Taking another swig of my molten coffee, I almost regretted my question. I knew I wasn’t going to like any of what James was about to tell me, and that it would be infinitely better if I went into the auction blind. That way I wouldn’t have one thousand and one awful scenarios running riot through my brain. The trouble with that plan was that if something was sprung upon me that I couldn’t cope with, I could say goodbye to any chance of killing Alain Dumortier. Considering I had made that man’s demise my life’s goal - that was going to be a problem. So I needed to know roughly what to expect, and figure out a way to deal with it.
Having completed a week's training under the supervision of dominant/special agent James Leveritt, I was feeling a little better about my submissive abilities, but I knew there was a hell of a lot I had yet to learn. Could I play my part, convincingly, for long enough to get Dumortier close to me? It was probably a slim chance, but one I had to take. No one had been able to infiltrate his little group of friends for years, and with good reason. The man was a sick, depraved, and utterly twisted sex addict. He had a tight ring of security that surrounded him at all times, and rarely left the confines of his underground club – Carte Blanche. Oh, and he also happened to be a psychopath. Good combination, right? Out of all the men and women I'd been contracted to kill in the past, none had ever been so deserving of death as Dumortier. This time I could almost make it personal if I wasn't a consummate professional of course.
“Come on, James. Out with it.” If the man didn’t speak soon, I was going to assume the worst, and I was nervous enough already.
Flinging his head back against the wooden kitchen chair, James sighed and said, “Curiosity killed the cat, Lois.” Watching the tempting bulge of his Adam’s apple as it rippled up his neck, I had to quell the urge to crawl over to him and kiss it. The attraction that flowed between us was something I had never had to deal with before, and sometimes it was so powerful I was almost mesmerised. The trouble was, James was well aware of the fact.
I snorted. "I very much doubt it. They wouldn't have nine lives if that were the case. Cats are an amazing combination of cunning, skill, and grace. If you feed them, they'll demonstrate a reasonable affection for you, but they never let you get quite close enough to discover their innermost secrets. They're a bit like assassins in that respect, aren't they, James?"
James narrowed his eyes as if trying to decipher what I meant by that statement. When I wasn't forthcoming with any more information, he pursed his lips, and then looked away. I thought I'd be questioned on it, but surprisingly there was no comment. Instead, he began telling me exactly what I wanted to know.
"Dumortier won't be there at the beginning. He'll send his goons in to see if there's anything worth his time and effort. He's a particularly fussy man. No plastic, no blondes, and no tattoos are some of his initial stipulations. If you pass those criteria, you're also required to be stick-thin, drop-dead gorgeous, and have no discernable accent. If you manage to get past that lot, you also need to be incredibly
sexually responsive, not mind a bit of pain, and not break into tears at the earliest opportunity. He has no time for those, so just keep them to yourself. Of course, to make things doubly entertaining, you’ll have no idea who his men are, so just bat your eyelashes and moan at every guy that squeezes your tits or slaps your ass. That’s normal behaviour for you girls, right?” James winked at me, so I threw another pen at him, which he managed to dodge again.
“You do remember I’m an assassin, right? I kill people who annoy me for a living.” I glared at him.
“Ah, but not ones who’ve been teaching you how to be a good submissive, nor ones who you’re already half in love with, I think.” This time James held his hands in front of his face as the entire box load of pens went flying in his direction. The law of averages meant that at least one of the damn things had to hit him.
“Let’s focus on work, shall we?” I said, smiling sweetly while ignoring his earlier comment. "Is the initial assessment just a touchy-feely party, or are there more fun and games to look forward to?"
"You'll be up on stage, under bright spotlights, with your arms tied above your head and your mouth gagged. They usually rope all of you together by your feet so you won't be able to use those, either. The men get up on stage with you in groups, and they have their fun. Their fingers will be everywhere, and you'll need to be wet, else it will hurt. If you think that's going to be a problem, use lube beforehand. They'll tug on your nipples, examine your clit, sink their little paws inside every hole you possess and watch you squirm. That's all part of the game. You'll get spanked and slapped, stroked and pinched, and there'll be some hair pulling. That's stage one. If you make it past that, then you can buckle your seat belt because things are about to get interesting.” He raised his eyebrows at me in challenge. It was a look that said, you don’t want to hear this, but I did. I needed every advantage I could get in that room, so I wanted to know every last detail and scenario that might befall me. I guess I just wanted to be prepared.
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